Burning Books: A Yaoi
by Yaoi-Chibi
Summary: AkuZeku: Zexion, a shy and abused boy is confronted and tortured by cult members of his new high school. As things seem to turn for the worst he finds something he was not expecting: love.
1. Chapter 1

"Where would one lie, if not upon thy pillow, upon thy bed, sweet sacrament to all things weak and iridescent, and yet may one man, to another ask, upon whose bed had another spent a night?" Like wildfire, my lover's lips spread across the plains of his teeth, and yet, left me like a child on the eve of Christmas, awake and turning, trying to will time to bend for his own sick sake. My lips, oh my lips! I beckoned them to respond, and yet they would not. For all love, why now must my shyness silence me so? I spent the night, my love! In my own bed, on my mattress, under the covers, grasping the one thing I have to remind me of you! I spent the hours, staring at the walls, sleeplessly dreaming of what we could have if only I were to speak! I spent the minutes, in my own mind, tracing your lips, wondering what it would be like to taste your burning flame. And the seconds- I spent them-as always-and forever- wanting nothing more than you…

Yet…

I may not speak. All I can mutter is weakly, "Fuck off Axel" So Contrary! Soooo….Ironic! Not 'off'! 'ME'! Yes, me! I wish only for this, and yet I say it not so! I let you go, on your way, to others, as I stand here, a slave to the cold perils of society.

If only, for one night, should I have your warmth, then in hell eternal would I be- evermore content. Here, in this hall of books, I crave your sardonic looks. You may wander away from the chained prisoner, and yet one day you will not, for I will be able to look into your eyes and give you something………long overdue…

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X I SMOKE I X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Life sucks and then you die. Typical bumper sticker on a typical fancy-ass convertible owned by some typical jock that in all ways is typically better than yours truly. Me, lonely making my way into the dismal school parking lot of Maverick high; creeping up like a senile old woman in my puke-green 1998 Cadillac. Me, showing up to his first day of public school…his senior year…in a tight v-neck (at least black) sweater and glasses. Me, the imbecile who can't even get his door open.

And…

The door screams, the oh-so-loveable sound of metal kissing metal ripping apart the inner workings of my soul. It's at one of these many moments you just wish Zeus would split your body in two with a well-aimed thunderbolt. You want to die-here and now. Slowly I beckon my eyes to open- just to face the scene I feared: a hideous slash on the vibrant red paint of the fancy-ass convertible. Shit.

Come on. Eyes…Look UP. Please, You'll be so swollen later you might as well do it now. Look now…

They obey….

September, a gloomy day- depressing- but...he…..

The sun is bright- but he…..

Flames are hot….but he…..

There's a man; laughing…at me…He's doubled over, clutching his stomach into his pale hands, as if he can't get enough. Enough of what? Some drug? Sweeter than heroin? No....

On either side of him there's another more sedated man glaring at me with ice blue eyes- blonde and brunette. But it's the red head I'm watching.

He….looks at me, his emerald eyes smiling. His face, pale as the moon, beams an ill-deserved smile at me, and two small tear drop-like black lines under his eyes contorted with the motion. The wind picks up violently, as in response to his malevolence, but his bright flamed spikes of hair do not budge- they are cemented like the asphalt itself. Unlike the other two blondes next to him, who are wearing normal tees, he's wearing a full-length gothic trench and combat boots. From his lips (his sweet lips) hangs a lit cigarette.

And here he stands- holding my own unworthy gaze- holding my life in his hands. It is almost as if I do not break his gaze now, it will forever keep enraptured and trapped in his iron will. Still, I cannot look away.

"Chill out Roxy" The man whispers to the one on my left- (his right) his voice pouring out like sweet honey into my innocent ears. Patting the frustrated blonde head beside him and keeping my gaze, he easily maneuvers in a graceful flip over the convertible, landing neatly in the center of a triangle formed by the slashed red door, the crappy inside of my door, and me. Taking his precious time he clasps his cigarette between two slender ringed fingers and takes in a deep breath of smoke. The butt of the cigarette glows brightly- third only to the sun and his eyes. With even more deliberate slowness his tall frame bends to make his face level with mine, (still helplessly in the car) his piercing eyes not more than an inch away. It is here he exhales the breath, and the noxious fumes dance around me like succubus.

It burns…My first instinct is to gasp. Not a good idea. My lungs fill with smoke, like an indirect kiss. I try to exhale, but alas, cannot. I cannot breathe at all. Something is suffocating me. In delirium I try to see what this weapon against me is, but my glasses are condensated with breath and smoke. I feel as if I am dying, and I close my eyes, watching an inevitable powerpoint of my pathetic life on the back of my eyelids. I feel the carbonic acid and nicotine entering my blood stream, however superficial. I search for something- anything- oh please something.

My fingertips race about, looking for the obtrusion and in their frenzy, the touch something soft. Skin? Yes skin. My brain is shutting down and yet I follow the skin, tracing it, trying to figure out what I am touching. I can't think. This is too much. Then with a sudden shock, my tongue sends a signal… the taste of cinnamon gum, hiding under all that smoke. Something soft and wet over my lips. More lips? Not surely..

He was kissing me…..

My first kiss…Like this? I compared it to dying! And not only that, he was holding my nose so I couldn't even breathe. Clever. And to think that that feeling was supposed to be arisen from arousal alone. I reopen my eyes to see that the fog has cleared and on the other side of the glass shined the two neon lights belonging to the casino that had just stolen my life savings. This fiery youth, determined to kill me mercilessly with his flames.

He now backs away, laughing hysterically… He finds pleasure in this? The other two look slightly annoyed and yet say nothing. The red- head silently takes another drag of his cigarette and finally breaks eye contact. As if I was under a spell, my legs are suddenly urged to move- all my body suddenly has different cravings. My face flushes, my legs run, my eyes stream tears, my hands mindlessly grab my bag, but oh no.

My heart is on a different side altogether.

I race across the asphalt, dropping my glasses along the way, but I don't care anymore, the red bricks of my new school are blurs in a mix of tears and impaired vision. I collapse behind a wall, my sight turning azure as my bangs fall over my eyes. This unfamiliar pavement feels like home- cloud nine- compared to my own car seat. I almost drift to sleep but somewhere the bell rings and brings back with its own harsh form of reality that this day has not even started. I pick up my school ID off the ground…(When did that fall out?) Even with my bad vision I can see my name. "Z-E-X-I-O-N" Yes, Zexion, who had his first kiss…A wall of smoke that, to his immense pleasure has cleared………………….for now…


	2. Chapter 2

The bell continues to chime in B flat minor as I walk to the office. It takes me much, much longer than it should as I don't have my glasses. The black signs that should show me the way are blurred in meshes of tangled fluorescent light. I finally arrive, eagerly pushing open the solid oak door that keeps me from my destination…

It opens much more easily than I had previously expected and inevitably slams into the face of a poor bystander. A shattered face bleeds crimson liquid; the torrents almost synchronizing to the screams of unseen women. I can't tell who it is I hit, and my first instinct is to flee, maybe to some intangible paradise, but…as usual, the other man strikes first.

A pale hand grabs my arm, yanking me in violent compulsion into the office. It smells like blood and a doctor's office. A hospital? Oh god no. Not again. [There's a chill in the air. Stretchers are lined up. The smell of iron lingers. Bodies. They are taking me. The snow is turning the color of the merlot in the backseat. Help.] Now a chair is sliding across the floor. Four sets of heels are clicking. Maybe five. There is a mesh of color, faces, or monsters over me, like mountains. It is now I realize I am on the floor. Or am I in the sky? In an intense feeling of vertigo I realize I may just be flying. I may be an angel, soaring above all these faces. Yes, rising up into the soft white clouds, finally free from this life. The coldness of the high altitude at which I'm at is making my body go numb, but now there's a feeling beyond that. All turns into the intense darkness I have yearned for all my life. Death. Finally here to take me away from…

In my silence there's a noise: pizzicato on strings? It's enrapturing, but alas, it is not what I would think angels would play. It's sort of like rock, but it's steady, gripping, and uncannily familiar. Here, in this place, the limbo between our world and the next, I find myself agitated. Bothered that I cannot place a melody, a melody that should not even exist in this utopia. Just as I am about to be finished by the razor-sharp edge of insanity, a baritone voice joins in with the chords. Of course, it had to be The Stones.

A red door, painted black. Why? I am dying, and yet, here goes some maniac angel playing a what… sitar? This can't just be a dream.

There's another light. A face, eyes looking into mine.

A guy is in my face, he's leaning over a blue sitar that must have been the source of the noise before. His features are kind, his blue eyes filled with worry, and yet I can't help but realize he was with the man who tortured me earlier. Behind him stands something in a smock, that aside from the facial hair I would have to guess to be the school nurse. She (maybe he) walks away nonchalantly as soon as she sees I'm alright. The man however, (much to my resentment) stays seated in a chair next to where I lay. Smiling, he extends a hand.

"Demyx.."

Shock. Pure shock. This man. Is introducing himself normally? After all the extremes his friend went to making a first impression this is all he has? Maybe you can't tell who a person is by his friends.

I struggle to make my arm move, its numb, and past that, its sweaty and stuck to the cheap fake leather of the nurse's bed. Finally it does, and I weakly place my palm in his. A far cry from a manly handshake. "Ze-" I start, but his other hand silences my lips.

"Yeah, I know, the whole school knows, 'Sexi Zexi' Axel's new play thing. You're lucky he's not the one you smashed. The worst he's doing now is pissing off Roxas and spreading shit about how cute your screams were-"

"What?" My head aches, okay, maybe he is that guy- (Axel's?) friend. He's talking so fast, it's almost as bad as the smoke. Now, finally gathering enough strength to get up, I examine him more closely.

There's a bandage on his forehead, which I can't help but to think is my fault. His hair is blonde, but cut shorter than the rest, his arms are laden with black jelly bracelets (Is that the kind- if you break-) And he's wearing a (somewhat tight) Stones tee. His sitar still sits in his lap.

"Anyway" Wow, he's still talking. "I was thinking, and I guess it would be safer for you if I walked you to your next class. Axel can get pretty obsessive with his made-up fantasies. And Roxas. Well let's just say he's not euphoric about their breakup. It was bloody. Roxas is sort of shallow too. Believes anything." He grimaced, as if he was remembering something. Axel. Roxas. Names and faces began to click together. Demyx. The only person who has yet to show me kindness.

He's now asking for my schedule, which, after forgetting in the chaos where I put it, I take out of my pocket. He smoothes out the wrinkled paper carefully, and as he examines it and explains to me for the first time what this all means, I feel a spark. Maybe little compared to suffocating in smoke, but it's there.

Sighing, and with a look of pain something in me wishes to erase, Demyx stands. "Zexi" He muses. "You really are out of luck, your next class. Is Phys Ed with Axel."


	3. Chapter 3

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~.III.~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

If anyone had told me it was possible for so many indifferent people to gather in one place, I would not have believed them. Bodies crush against mine, each smelling slightly different, some of smoke and drugs, others of sex and inexpensive perfume. All that's visible of Demyx is his hand gripping mine, pulling me through this sea of outsiders, my beacon of light guiding me to my destination.

But sadly, the shore is laden with rocks.

Roxas stands outside the doors of the gym, a predator, watching me with eyes like ice. He grimaces, as if the sight of me pains him. Demyx, still having a hold of my hand, watches, and then turns to face me with pity.

"It's worse than I thought."

He bent down, setting down his sitar for a minute to place his hands upon my shoulders and look me in the eyes.

"Listen." He murmured, audible only to me. "It's going to be hell in there. No matter what Axel does, no matter what Roxas says to you, I want you to come out of there alive. I'm sorry you became a part of this. So very, sincerely sorry. If it all goes wrong, I'll attend your funeral."

My hands felt wet, cold. 'My funeral?' I pictured Demyx in a black tuxedo, solemnly playing his sitar next to my grave.

Impossibly, he smiled.

"I'm just kidding, my newbie. Don't take things so literally, haven't you ever heard of an idiom?" With a small pat to the shoulder he turned to go, taking up his sitar. That's all they can ever do, leave me to rot, the apple, the small temptation, they take one bite and leave me for something sweeter.

An idiom…..he meant a hyperbole…this is not going to be a piece of cake.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

It was nearly impossible to get past Roxas. He didn't say anything, but after Marluxia waltzed over he began whispering in hushed tones, glancing towards me.

For a second I thought the gym was safe, a haven against the cruel whispers behind me, but then, as if to contradict my pleasant thoughts, I see flames against the blackboard, the cruel flames of my own, personal hell.

Axel…..

He's alone, his arms crossed, a devilish smirk stuck on his face, a cigarette, even in the gymnasium, hanging from his mouth. From the way the gym director eyes him, something's obviously going on, even to virgin eyes. The fag isn't a bother. It smells like sweat, yet it's warm, like a partner's embrace after making love. It's disgusting. Roxas walks across the gym, arm in arm with Marluxia, not bothering to look at me, standing alone in the middle of the floor. Roxas sits in Marluxia's lap, on top of the crimson gym mats, glaring at axel from his new perch.

……………Smoke……..Something's…..touching..me..

I shouldn't have averted my attention. Axel stands behind me, his body pressed against mine, his cigarette hanging next to my ear, hanging from his lips.

"Why hello there, my Sexy Zexy"

My emotions are a riot. Confusion, anger, and maybe…even lust…It's been so long since a body…Zexion what are you thinking? All eyes are on us, in that lingering moment. I can't move. I can't tell if that hot sensation in my ear is his cigarette or his breath. I can't even trace the hint of sarcasm in his voice. It's the eternal suffering, I'm the sinner in the vestibule, waiting for judgment, waiting to fall to Judececca, into Lucifer's arms.

"Go dress out!"

The PE director doesn't sound thrilled, but it's not of my concern. Axel's dragging me all-too-happily into the locker room, and people are making the way. Everyone bows before him. The king of my hell.

The locker room is dark and cold, and smells even stronger of persperation. I barley have time to unzip my gym bag before Axel drags me into the dressing room., thrusting me into a stall, my back against the ugly tiled wall. He smiles, shutting the curtain with gusto. No one says a word.

When he turns to face me he has a knife.

The smile doesn't leave his face. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth, throwing it to the ground and crushing it with his foot. In the faint light of the shower stall, his blade looks menacing. Oh god… Not again.

He presses the knife to my neck.

It's cold, not so much the metal, but the force behind it, the unbelievable concept behind it. Someone values their own sick motives over your life. Maybe I am truly going to hell. He still smiles, his face in mine, our heartbeats erratic.

"Sooo..I take it Demi's told you?"

Demi? Demyx? Told me…Demyx is in on it too? I imagine him, leaving me. Walking away. At my funeral. Wishing me the best in hell. Yes, I don't blame him. It's human nature to betray.

The knife draws blood, a reminder to my

Lips to move.

Its weak, but I force myself to mutter. "Yeah." My hair is sticking to my face, sweat. His smile widens, and he draws closer, his tongue slowly licking the dark blood from my neck. In between drops he whispers. "My lovebird, you were at the wrong place at the wrong time, I'm afraid. I have to use you, my toy, my chess piece, to the utmost advantage. He caressed my body, his hands slowly crawling up my sweater, like spiders. "If you have to know…I killed him. I'm the patriarch."

My voice….screams…As it hasn't since that day. I'm running. Away. Axel looks at me confused. I push past him, and bolt into the main locker room, tears of salt running down my flushed face…I open my eyes, leaning against the locker, and I see it…

Axel's messenger bag…

And on it…The Insignia.

………………………………..........The new organization.

My own. Personal. Hell.


End file.
